


Polymerise, or; Five Improbable Inuit Stories about Paint

by shihadchick



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-22
Updated: 2006-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray, Fraser, and five stories about paint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polymerise, or; Five Improbable Inuit Stories about Paint

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my Rae for CSI, to Chris for part V, and to Izzy for a beta in record time, at dear-god-o-clock in the morning which made me laugh more than anything I wrote did. Originally for the ds_flashfiction Paint challenge.

I.

For reasons which don't bear exploring at this juncture, Ray is undercover at a fetish club.  Originally, they'd been planning to have Fraser be undercover-guy and Ray be backup in van-with-the-radio-equipment guy, being as he was actually, you know, the cop in this juridisdiction and all, but Welsh had just given them one raised eyebrow, and with a dawning sense of inevitability Ray had reflected on just what, exactly, would be involved in such an undertaking and if Fraser couldn't get Frannie to back off, then tossing him into the meat market that was _Heaven and Handbaskets_ was going to end even more badly than ventures like this usually did.

And Ray really didn't fancy having to watch a parade of Adams, Steves and Jean-Lucs try to pry each other off a wide-eyed Mountie who wasn't wearing very much at all.  Uh, in the picture in Ray's head of course, that was.  Not that he spent much time picturing Fraser not wearing very much. Nope, not him.

And then of course, the case broke, but only after Ray'd got felt up by three really unattractive guys who frankly needed to get their asses to the gym a LOT more often if they wanted to be living up to the gay stereotype, and there was their suspect, and there was some nice healthy paper evidence hopefully linking him to the smuggling ring, and there was- there was Fraser, picking up the cuffs chained to the wall and putting SOMETHING in his mouth, and Jesus, didn't he know where that- where ANYTHING in this place had been?

"Tree sap... and, ammonia?"  Fraser looked somewhat puzzled for all of about two seconds, before his face cleared, and then he was looking at Ray (or, well, at Ray's face, because buddies didn't look below the shoulders when their partner had been unkindly squeezed into tight carmine-red leather pants that maybe had belonged to Frannie.  When she was fifteen) and there it was, that look, that look that said "Ray, my friend, I have a fascinating story of Native Canadian culture to share with you that may or may not have some bearing on our case but either way you're going to hear it."

Ray leant back against the bar and discreetly tried to scoot his feet far enough apart to be a little more comfortable and pretended to listen.

"...and so, the Inuit would use the liquid sap as a makeshift paint substitute, as it is both porous and easy to remove, although of course if you're not careful it can get into hair and be very painful to remove..."

And Ray was waking up at THAT, because, hang on hang on, this was the wide open break they'd been looking for, and that business with ammonia, now that was ringing bells, too, and "Fraser, you telling me that stuff is rubber? Latex rubber?"

"Yes, Ray, that is in fact what I've been trying to tell-"

Then Ray was crowing and doing as much of a victory dance as he could possibly manage in the aforementioned Seriously Tight Pants but hey, at least they were more flattering than Fraser's damned pumpkin pants, any day of the week, maybe they did look a little like they'd been poured on - liquid latex, hot DAMN - but all in all, he could be looking a lot worse for his age.  Because Mr I-Only-Use-This-Stuff-For-Commerical-Purposes had been caught out in one obvious lie and where there was one Ray was obviously going to be able to kick an even bigger hole into his story with this evidence.

"Fraser, that's great, get someone to bag it and for God's sake don't lick anything else in this place."

* * * *

II.

The worst thing, the absolute worst thing - despite the mess, despite the bone-rattling slide down a freaking industrial garbage chute, despite the sheer, utter, unalloyed GROSSNESS of the whole "finding a head in a bucket of paint" issue, even worse than the bitching Welsh gave him (and, okay, Fraser, but really, he just stood there and looked concerned about Welsh's blood pressure) for how many citizens came screaming in to complain that their homes had been tainted with the "human paint" the nutty civil maintenance crew had concocted, far, far, many levels worse than that was the fact that they'd found the first piece of evidence on one of Chicago's swankiest hotels.  And that the Palmer House was at that time the host for the Mid-West's largest Forensics Science conference.  And so instead of it being just him and Fraser, wham bam, wacky hijinks and wildly bizarre endangering of life, instead of that, it was him, Fraser, and what seemed like a hundred guys with lame beards who couldn't have more than ten years on him anyway screaming at them about "corrupting the evidence."

Like they hadn't heard that one before.

Or, actually, in a way, they hadn't, but Ray hadn't really thought of it that way, because it worked for them.  Fraser did something disgusting, they caught the bad guys, Stella did legal stuff to make sure the creeps didn't get bail and they all slept better at night.

Actually, probably the worst thing about that whole case came down to an even tie between the way that both him and the Mountie (and god only knew how Dief missed it, but praise Jesus he had because wet dog smell had nothing, but  _nothing_ on wet wolf) ended up tip to toe in a vat of the filthy stuff and there were not enough showers in the world to get that muck off soon.  Nor could Ray get enough soap in his ears to not hear Fraser's too-cheerful anecdote floating over the particleboard from the stall next to his at the precinct, telling him more than he ever cared to know about how Old Man Something had bathed for a week in the soothing hot-springs of Somewhere or Other just to remove the tar from his boots after he'd been hunting elk in the summer.  Or something metaphorical like that, anyway.

Ray shook his head, did  _not_ think about the splashing next to him and deliberately stuck his finger into his ear, rolling his eyes when it still came out smeared with pink-orange streaks of paint.

This was  _never_ going to come out.

* * * *

III.

Probably letting the wolf and the mountie watch too much of the Discovery channel was a bad idea.  A man could get some very funny ideas about life if that was all he ever saw, especially considering how those shows focused on violence and the chase and sex and, well, plants.  Which, hey, kind of summed up their lives anyway, so maybe it wasn't all that unusual.  Well, except for the sex of course.  So to speak. Also, probably the plants, though, well, if you counted what Turnbull had been trying to do at the Consulate lately, but then, usually it was better not to.

Probably it would be better for the emotional health of all of them if, say, they could watch a little bit more of the beer-and-chicks part of the Great American TV experience, or, even better, if it could just be hockey season again already.  With hockey, you knew where you were.  With the Hawks, that was probably losing, but still. 

But now, now there'd been two weekends in a row of some kind of Zoo programme, something that had Dief, at least, absolutely fascinated, and Fraser just looking tolerant and addressing the odd remark to him, and Ray just rolling his eyes, slumping down and kicking his toes against the leg of the coffee table and dozing off to the sound of them arguing. 

He'd usually wake up in time for the bit on dinosaurs that came after it, because frankly, dinosaurs were cool and it was always fun to razz Fraser about that Edmontonosaurus thing and ask him if he'd ever seen one.  And then he'd drive the pair of them back to the Consulate and come home and toss out the pizza box and fall asleep in front of, well, the Discovery channel.  Not like he could be bothered to buy anything more than basic cable anyway, really.

But now, now all those chickens were coming home to roost with a _vengeance_ , because when he'd told Fraser "why don't you get dinner, let yourself in, I'll finish up here and then we're good for this one," when he'd made the  _generous_ offer of both his home and his time, what he had  _not_ expected was to walk in (smelled like Tony'd caved on the pineapple this time, glory be to God on high) was to see Dief standing on a bunch of newspaper (well, that figured, Fraser was nothing if not considerate), head tilted sideways while he-  <i>while he held a paintbrush in his mouth and painted -something- onto Ray's _turtle_. </i>

Afterwards, he maintained that his yell had contained only the phrase "natural enemies, what did I tell you?" and no other, more objectionable four letter words, as would be suggested by the impressive lecture Fraser had read him on the actual feeding and hunting habits of the Arctic Wolf.  Fraser'd slung him off his feet and back into the couch with one easy grab anyway, and Dief had only turned around at the sudden frantic kick of his feet slipping against the rug, favoring him with a look that even Ray had no trouble as interpreting as "stupid human" before he went back to emulating that elephant he was so fond of.

Ray just sighed and hoped Fraser'd been smart enough to just give him watercolors.  He wasn't looking forward to explaining this one to the vet, later.

* * * *

IV.

See, Ray had read all the case files, all the pieces both official and unoffical that went into the last thirty years of Ray Vecchio's life.  Well, he'd skimmed them anyway.  Couldn't do too much in-depth work over the space of a week, but he knew the basics and he knew the important details, or so he thought. 

Because what he didn't know was about the time that Vecchio had been trying to make points with an old flame (a nun! he'd been trying to impress a nun! Now, Ray was down with Catholicism and all, his mother'd have had his head any other way, but those were some serious balls - or, okay, delusions - that Vecchio had going there) and Fraser, Fraser had dressed up like a woman.  Like a chick.

Like a... hot chick.

Because there he was again now, all dolled up in his Miss Fraser get up, insisting that Ray accompany him to the school because the girls had asked them to visit and not all of them had been privy to his 'secret identity' (like he was _Batman_ or something) and what Ray had not anticipated, not at all, was that seeing Fraser, all made up like that, stockings and skirt and, Jesus fuck, cleavage even, was doing some serious rearrangement of his blood supply. Hell, he wasn't even made up all that well, paint an inch thick, or so the wildly flailing part of Ray's hind brain informed him, remembering the phrase from who knew where, probably one of Fraser's damn Eskimo stories or something, and all Ray could think was just how much better he'd look with most of it wiped clean, just some light eyeliner and maybe a bit of shadow and-

Actually, no, apparently all Ray could think was "do me do me do me NOW" because apparently what happened when you put Ray Kowalski and Miss Fraser together in the back of the GTO (because Fraser had knocked his handbag under the seat and of course Ray had to help him retrieve it) what happened then was Ray Kowalski snapping and shoving Benton Fraser hard up against the closed passenger side door, breathing hot and agressive right up against his skin and then he was kissing, they were kissing, all rough palms and teeth and waxy lipstick tracing the blush-pink bruises that ended up ringing Ray's neck like jewellery, and there they were and it was like eighteen all over again and Ray should've remembered from then just how hard it was to clean the upholstery off after getting laid in the backseat there and it was even worse (better) when it was two of them.

* * * *

V.

And then there was Canada, and a new posting for Fraser and a new job for Ray, and the more things changed, well, the more they stayed the same because, well, the ink stains didn't seem to want to come off his fingertips (or, okay, off Fraser's ribs, but even in a sweat-lodge no one else should be looking _there_ , that was Ray's, all Ray's, just about had his name stamped on 'em literally, so to speak) no matter what he did, and it was just too, too embarrassing to explain what had happened which was, actually:

> "Ray.  Ray.  Ray.  _Ray_."
> 
> "What, Ben?"
> 
> "Ray, the posted limit here is only 50 kilometres an hour.  It's a residential area."
> 
> "What is that in American?  And it's a field, no one lives out here yet, you know that as well as I do."  A faint whine of acceleration, daring him, road markings flashing past in a solid blur.  Just to make the point.
> 
> "Ray.  You're speeding."
> 
> "Yes, <i>Fraser</i>, I am.  How many years you driven with me now?  What are you going to do about it?  I'll remind you, the sulking doesn't work any more.  And if you want to get out and walk home, well, be my guest."
> 
> "Ray, I'll arrest you."
> 
> "For going five miles over the limit?  Should I be watching out for sleds?"
> 
> "It's closer to ten.  And yes.  Ray, in the Dominion of Canada, travelling above the legal speed limit is seen as a crime, regardless of how your laws in the United States may appear to only loosely apply to an officer of the law."
> 
> "Fraser, you are a freak."

Okay, so really the embarrassing part was that he'd let Fraser do it, but apparently it was a family tradition, and he didn't want to mess with that, because tradition was important to Fraser, and really, he HAD been breaking the law and only a little bit of it had been because he wanted to see if what they said about being handcuffed in the Territories was true.


End file.
